The Wounded
by Cassy27
Summary: AU - teenage Reid - When the BAU-team travels to Las Vegas, they are not getting any closer to catching their unsub. The case leads them to Spencer Reid, but they are unsure how he fits in. Is he their unsub or in danger?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

**Warnings: AU (Reid is 17, but the BAU-team are the same)**

**AN: This is my first fic for Criminal Minds so I don't really know what to expect. This is more an introduction, but I hope it will still be enjoyed. I have started to write the second chapter, but if this chapter sucks, just tell me. I'm open to honest feedback.**

**- The Wounded -**

**Chapter 1**

Thursday was always a tiring day. Not that John minded because he planned it like that. Getting up around eight, taking a quick shower, eating breakfast and heading to work. His shift ended at five which gave him the perfect opportunity to head to the gym where he would remain for another hour before heading back home again. He always ran the distance, believing it to be another healthy exercise.

During High School, he had been brilliant at sport - or so he thought. No university had offered him a scholarship and therefore his plans to continue studying fell apart. However, he refused to consort to self-pity and had faced life head on. Straight after high school, he had found a decent job in a local factory, moved into his own little apartment and met the girl he knew he would marry someday.

Now, seven in the evening, he was getting ready to meet that girl for a fifth date. If everything went well tonight, he would bring her home, offer her some wine and get things going. He smiled at that thought.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he rubbed a hand across his face. His hair looked good, his skin smelled of perfume – though not overwhelmingly. If only he could pick the right outfit, then nothing could go wrong tonight.

Exiting the bathroom, he walked into his bedroom where his outfit for the night lay neatly on his bed. John gazed at it, still hesitating whether to wear his blue shirt or his red - or perhaps he should go for a green one? Casting a swift look at his watch, he realized he would be late for his date and so he quickly got dressed, picking the red one.

Just when he was about to put on his favourite blazer, his eye caught movement to his right.

He swirled around, his breath hitching in his chest. Before him stood a man, dressed entirely in black and a long knife firmly in his hand. John stumbled back, falling over his own feet and forcefully landing on the wooden floor beneath him. It send shivers of pain through his body and John closed his eyes, praying that when he would open them again, the attacker in his bedroom would be gone.

"Hello, John Ferrer," the man smirked, forcing John to open his eyes.

John found the voice strangely familiar and his mind raced to place it, but it came up empty. All that he could think of was getting away of this madman and his legs desperately pushed him away from the stranger.

"Please," John pleaded, feeling tears invade his eyes. For once, he truly did not care whether he cried or not. He had never before experienced such fear and all that he wanted was to _live_. "Please, I'll give you anything. What do you want?"

The man's lips turned into two small lines, his eyes burning with sudden rage. "I want you," he spoke slowly as if he wanted every word to cut through John's mind, "to fear me." He jumped forward, pinning down John who desperately tried to escape by kicking his legs and punching around his hands.

However, the blade of a knife sunk deep within his chest, almost with ease which made John cry out in pain. For a moment, he hoped someone heard him, but a hand pressed down on his lips, instantly silencing him.

The knife cut in to his stomach again and again. It was so that John died, looking into the eyes of his murderer, suddenly realizing who he was and why he was dying.

-o-o-

With his foot rhythmically tapping the ground beneath him, Spencer Reid bit down on his nails. They were already so short that the skin threatened to bleed, but the young teenage boy barely noticed. It didn't hurt, at least not as long as he didn't pay it any attention. With one knee against his chest, an arm wrapped around the leg, Reid glanced around.

He knew exactly what to look for, but a part of his brain remained intentionally oblivious. It was getting late – past ten – and the park was almost completely abandoned. There was an occasional man or woman walking a dog and two teenage kids - who were probably older than Spencer - were skating around in the distance. Spencer barely dared looking at them; he wasn't scared, but he also didn't want to attract their attention.

It was when he pulled back his hand, looking at a drop of blood sliding down his middle finger that he felt a pair of eyes on him. Slowly, he looked up to find an adult man gazing at him, a smile playing around the corners of the man's lips. Spencer watched how he reached deep within his pocket, a gesture that would have many running as far away as possible, but he stayed on the bench, his eyes fixed on the movement.

The man who he only knew as Mr. Cameron pulled out a neatly bundled stack of money. It looked pale in the moonlight, but Spencer took it none the less. He didn't need to count how much he was currently holding. He had done this for what felt like a million times already and he knew the drill.

"You'll get the rest later," Mr. Cameron spoke with authority in his voice as he looked down at the lank, pale teenager, "agreed?"

Slowly, Spencer stood from the bench, refusing to swallow or bite his lip now. It would only be a sign of weakness which was not something he could allow to slip past his guard. He needed to appear confident, though he knew his hands were trembling. They always trembled when he was with Mr. Cameron.

"Alright," Spencer said, surprised to find his own voice steady.

Mister Cameron chuckled, turning on his heels and walking away from the bench, knowing that Spencer would follow him like an obedient dog. He didn't even look behind to look at the seventeen year old boy, but kept on walking until they reached his car.

Spencer hated getting into that car.

-o-o-

Hotch was last one to enter the conference room. Rossi, Morgan and Prentiss were already seated around the oval table, documents and files scattered across its smooth surface while JJ stood before a white board with a remote control resting in her hand. When she shared a glance with the Unit Chief, she offered him a smile which Hotch only return faintly.

"Tell us," Morgan began the conversation, his fingers leaving pages of the file he held, "what do you have for us, JJ?"

JJ nodded her head and pressed a button on the remote. An image instantly appeared on the screen behind her, showing a young man with his throat slit. It was a gruelling photo, but the team had seen worse – murdered children – but this crime scene definitely had a lot of blood. However, no one deviated their gaze from the photo. This was part of their job after all and they had all learned to live with it.

"This," JJ moved on to the next photo which showed a regular picture of the murdered man, "is John Ferrer. He's the latest victim in a series of killings in Las Vegas. Before him Mike Roddick," - a new picture appeared with every name she called - "Logan Mayer and Roger Anderson have been found murdered in the same way."

"Wait," Prentiss said, leaning forward with her elbows resting on the table, "Roger Anderson is much older than the other three victims. He doesn't seem the fit in."

"Indeed," JJ agreed, sighing a little, "Anderson is 42 years old, a teacher at a local high school in Las Vegas, Nevada. The three other men are all between 23 and 25 years old."

Morgan stood from his seat, the eyes of his team all resting on his body, and moved closer to the screen. His gaze fell on each face before he turned to look at the others, a frown filling his face. "And they don't really look like each other either."

It was true. John Ferrer had short blond hair, blue eyes and a slender figure, but still masculine. Mike Roddick, on the other hand, looked much broader with heavy eyebrows, brown eyes and dark hair. Logan Mayer had soft ginger hair, light eyes and was the smallest of the three young men. And then, of course, there was Roger Anderson who was much older and didn't seem to belong with the other victims. He already grew grey hair near his temples.

"The only thing linking them," JJ continued, "is the MO in which they have been killed. Their throats have been slit at their homes and the coroner places their times of death between 7 and 12 in the evening which is another common factor."

"Something must link them," Rossi said, leaving through the thick files before him.

JJ wished she could give them more information, but this was all she had for now. The rest of the team would have to build their profile with this and when a new victim would arise – one always did – they would be able to work in more detail. "The local police are looking into it right now," JJ said, "and I already have Garcia looking through her databanks. Only Ferrer and Roddick seem to have an evident link which is that they went to the same school with a year difference."

Hotch spoke for the first time. "The same school at which Roger Anderson taught?"

"Yes," JJ confirmed, nodding her head, "but that doesn't link Mayer, he seems random."

Rossi looked up from his papers, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Nothing is random."

JJ smiled politely at the Supervisory Special Agent who gladly returned it. "We leave at three," she told them, "so you better go get your bags."

Everyone got up from their seats at once and exited the room, leaving JJ behind to collect the files and papers. Another long journey lay ahead and she only hoped to be home soon. Since she had a son, she dreaded leaving home for too long, but this was still her job and she loved it.

It didn't mean she wouldn't miss Henry or Will.

-o-o-

Spencer carefully closed the door behind him to find his mother sitting before the TV with her arms resting in her lap and her legs covered by a blanket. He couldn't see her face, but he knew she was sleeping since that's all she did lately. Without making much noise, he snuck past Diana, casting a quick glance towards her to see if she was truly alright and then slipped up the stairs.

He waited until he was in the bathroom before removing his clothes. They weren't dirty, but Spencer felt they had a wrong smell and he needed them gone as quickly as possible. Tossing them in the laundry basket, he knew he would have to wash them himself, but he didn't care - he was used to taking care of himself. Stripping completely naked, he avoided looking into the mirror. He already knew what he would find there; a small, broken boy.

Stepping into the shower, he let the hot water run over his head and only when he was sure his mother hadn't woken or was coming towards the bathroom, did he cry. He was disgusted with himself, wanted to scrub himself clean until his skin bled, but he couldn't. His arms suddenly felt too heavy to lift, so in stead he stood completely still, waiting for that suffocating feeling around his throat to disappear.

He didn't know how long he stood below the running water, but when he stepped from underneath it, he found the mirror damp. Slowly, he moved his hand across the surface, revealing himself in the reflection and the image repulsed him. Red dots coloured his neck, thick scratches covered his arms and bruises were started to take shape around his wrists and torso.

Mr. Cameron always got rough near the end.

Spencer inhaled deeply, forcing himself to look into his own greyish eyes when suddenly his arm shot forward. His knuckles collided with the mirror, shattering it and sending a fire of pain through his skin. Blood broke free from the broken skin, but it looked shallow so it wouldn't need any stitches. Cursing himself for having taken such a stupid and impulsive action, Spencer began to collect the broken pieces, feeling like he was actually picking up pieces of himself from the floor.

**AN: So...that was the first chapter and I'm not sure what to think about it. Is it any good? Worth continuing? I honestly don't know...'**_**sigh'**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

**Warnings: AU (Reid is 17, but the BAU-team are the same)**

**AN: ****So I guess people do want to see what will happen next in this story? I will try and update faster in the future, but I really wanted this chapter to be good. I'm sorry if all the names are a bit confusing, but in the end, they don't really matter. If you just remember Dean Isner, then you're all set for the next chapters.**

**Thanks for the review! Keep 'em coming!**

**- The Wounded -**

**Chapter 2**

Barry Lannister, the local detective, greeted the newly arrived BAU-team kindly and offered each of them a hand. JJ made sure he knew who they all were to avoid any possible confusion in the future. "And this is our Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner," she concluded as Barry shook Hotch's hand, "he leads the investigation."

Barry nodded very sincerely and began walking further into the police station. "I am thankful you're all here so soon," he said, "I have no idea how to catch the bastard who did this."

JJ professionally ignored his poor choice of words and in stead offered him a kind smile when he looked at her. "The unsub has his reasons and once we find what links the victims, finding him will proof to be easier, though not easy."

Barry let his gaze slide to the faces of every FBI agent, a frown covering his brow. "Him?"

It was Morgan who spoke, "we believe our unsub is a male. To be able to cut someone's throat requires strength and speed, only something a man could posses."

Barry barely acknowledged the new information and simply said, "I see." He showed them the way to a small office where they were allowed to set up. On the back wall, photos and other information hung collected and Rossi walked towards it in order to examine it more closely. Nothing was on there which they did not already know.

"We have to find what links these victims," Rossi said, turning around to look at the rest of the team and Barry. "We know Ferrer and Roddick went to the same school, with a year difference, the same school Anderson taught at. We can only assume that's the most important link between them. So how will we fit Mayer in all this?"

Prentiss stepped forward, allowing her gaze to fall on each photograph that decorated the board. She pointed towards the photo of Mayer, the ginger haired man, and said, "He is the same age as the other two men, that can't be a coincidence. I think it's safe to assume that we have to search for our unsub in the school environment. Perhaps a former friend?"

It was then that Hotch phone rang, disrupting their train of thought. The Unite Chief flipped open his phone and placed it on the table. "You're on speaker, Garcia, tell us what you've found."

"Hello, my precious," Garcia greeted them in her usual cheery manner, "I did a thorough search and found that Ferrer, Roddick _and_ Mayer used to be close friends, but ever since high school they seemed to have lost all contact." There was a brief pause and a keyboard clicking away. "I did some more searching and found that the merry gang consisted out of four members. There is another Dean Isner out there somewhere and I'm looking for his address right now which...I just sent to your phones."

"Thank you, Garcia." Hotch disconnected the call and focused on Morgan and Prentiss. "You two go to Isner and find out if he has any idea who might be targeting his old friends." The two younger agents nodded and left, grabbing a set of car keys on their way out. "JJ, I need you to organize a press conference," Hotch continued, "tell the public that there is no reason for panic, we'll provide you with our profile later."

JJ instantly took out her phone and placed some calls.

"You do know that our unsub probably isn't another old friend," Rossi said, stepping forward until he stood directly before Hotch, "no _old_ _friend_ suddenly goes killing."

Hotch nodded, agreeing with everything Rossi. "Someone bullied," he sighed, "it provides a motive, but we still have a loose end; how does Anderson fit in all this? He's a teacher and wouldn't bully another student."

"We'll have to ask Dean Isner," Rossi said.

"I'll let Morgan and Prentiss know."

-o-o-

Spencer bolted awake, his breath trapped in his chest, making the edges of his vision blur into darkness. He needed to calm down, but the memories of last night came rushing back to him. How could he ever forget what he had done? Carefully, he lifted his sore hand to see small cuts and bruises colour his knuckles. He had been very stupid to crash his hand into the mirror last night.

Slowly, he slid from underneath his covers and out of the bed, grabbing a clean pair socks, jeans and a shirt. The simple movements of getting dressed seemed to hurt and his arms appeared to be weighing a ton as if lead was flowing through his veins in stead of regular blood. His legs were sore and his stomach growled violently as it craved food. Reluctantly, Spencer walked down the stairs to find the kitchen and living room empty. His mother was probably still in bed, a place she probably wouldn't leave for another 48 hours.

He really needed to make sure that Diana was alright, but he felt too disgusted with himself to face her right now. She might be a paranoid schizophrenic - a diagnosis Spencer himself had given her since she refused to see any doctor - but she had a talent for spotting anything wrong with her son. It was her most annoying talent.

Forcing himself to eat a slice of dry bread, Spencer quickly washed away its disgusting taste with lukewarm coffee. It was the only thing that kept him going all day and it was no surprise why he was so skinny lately. A boy of seventeen years old could not survive on coffee alone. Spencer knew this, but he simply couldn't bring himself to eat anything else but bread in the morning or the occasional doughnut in the afternoon.

It was only when he switched on the TV to catch the news that he held his breath and thought he might actually pass out. There was a young, blonde woman on TV, definitely from the FBI, and she was talking about a string of murders that had happened in the past few days. As each photo appeared on the screen, Spencer needed to grab onto the edge of a chair to steady himself and his fingers clenched around his mug of coffee.

It had been a long time since he had seen those faces, but he could recognize them everywhere and any time. Even though he knew they were dead, he felt an anger rise in his chest, an emotion he could no longer control and a little voice in the back of his head growled to him, '_they had it coming_.'

-o-o-

Morgan and Prentiss walked up to a little, but nice looking house. The grass in the front lawn was well kept and a little bicycle lay in front of the stairs that lead up to the front door. Prentiss smiled as she pulled the toy aside, looking up to Morgan who had just disconnecting his call with Hotch.

"We have to ask him how Anderson, the teacher, fits into all this," Morgan explained.

Prentiss nodded, understanding before pointing towards the bike, "seems there is a kid in this house."

Morgan smiled, pulling of his sunglasses and placing them into the pocket of his jacket. He knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer. Only a few seconds later, a young woman appeared, her short blond hair pulled into a little ponytail. She couldn't be much older than 25. "Yes, can I help?" she asked in a soft voice.

It was Prentiss who took out her badge and showed it. "We're with the FBI. I am agent Emily Prentiss and this is agent Derek Morgan. We're looking for Dean Isner, is he home?"

"Yes," the woman said, suddenly nervous, but she stepped aside and allowed the agents to enter her house, "he's in the back with our son Jaimy. I'll go get him for you."

"Excuse me," Morgan interrupted her before she could walk away, "what is your name exactly?"

The woman smiled, revealing a warmth in her eyes that had been hidden only moments ago. "My name is Donna Jones," she said, "am Dean's wife." She disappeared then for a moment, her voice echoing through the house as she called for her husband. A male voice answered and Donna returned, folding her arms before chest. "What is this about exactly?"

It was then that Dean Isner appeared, a small boy following his trail. Jaimy had a head full of blonde curls, much like his mother, and his large blue eyes were glued to the two strangers in the house. Donna knelt before her son and gently caressed his cheek. "Why don't you go play in your room, sweety. Mommy and Daddy have to talk to these people."

Jaimy nodded and after throwing the agents a quick insecure glance, he disappeared up the stairs.

"Can I help you?" Dean asked, stepping closer to his wife who took his hand into her own. They showed the agents towards the living room and sat down on the couch, Prentiss and Morgan following their example.

It was Morgan who began the conversation, "I think you know why we are here, Mr. Isner."

"The murders," Dean nodded, sighing deeply, "they were my friends."

"_Were_?" Prentiss asked, instantly having spotted the tense of the verb.

Dean smiled sadly, turning his head to look at his wife. "We lost all contact," he explained, "when Donna got pregnant a few years ago, I was forced to grow up suddenly. I couldn't have a few idiotic friends hanging around the house, drinking beer while I had a son coming."

Morgan nodded understandingly.

"I mean," Dean continued, a slight tremble in his voice, "Jaimy is almost five and already he can be influenced by cartoons and movies. You should hear the things that sometimes come out of his mouth."

"So you haven't seen them lately?" Prentiss asked, needing to be sure of this fact. Every small detail could help them get closer to the truth.

"I saw Logan Mayer a few months ago," Dean said, frowning as he tried to remember these facts, "it was an accident really. I spotted him in the mall and we got talking for a while. Donna and Jaimy were shopping for clothes so I had time."

"And the others?" Morgan asked, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. "What about John Ferrer or Mike Roddick?"

Dean bit down on his lip and shifted his gaze between the two agents. "Look, we were friends in high school and when that time ended, we went our different ways. I never even went to a reunion because frankly, I wanted to forget about that time."

Prentiss smiled. "Who doesn't?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, releasing Donna's hand and leaning forward. A deep sigh escaped his lips as if he was trying to prepare himself for what was coming next. "I was horrible in high school," he admitted reluctantly, "I thought I was it, as did my friends. The four of us – me, Logan, Mike and John – we were kings around here. We thought the world belonged to us because we were popular, rather good looking and excelled in sports. After school, we met up at the park and continued our bullying there."

"Is there anyone you targeted continually?" Morgan asked.

Dean swallowed heavily and cast down his eyes. "There was a boy," he said softly, "easy target; nerdy, small, no friends and a name that screamed to be bullied for. We made sure Spencer Reid's life was a living hell."

For the first time since they had seated, Donna spoke, "It's okay, honey, those years are behind you now. You're a wonderful father and you broke with your past. That's what matters."

Prentiss almost felt sorry for disrupting the loving moment between husband and wife. "Roger Anderson," she said, calling back Dean's attention, "he is one of the victims. Do you have any idea why he has been murdered as well?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, appearing very exhausted suddenly. "He...uhm," he searched for the right words, "Mr. Anderson was a good teacher. I went to a different school so he was never my teacher, but John and Mike often spoke of him. His classes were one of the few they actually enjoyed. But there were times when my friends were bullying on the playground and Mr. Anderson just stood by. Spencer once went to him - I remember - talked to him, but Anderson did nothing. There was little he could do."

"Thank you for the name," Prentiss said, wishing she could say something else. If this Reid was there unsub, then they were about to make an arrest. It was never easy to do so when the unsub was a victim as well and she could only begin to imagine what it must be like to be bullied throughout your entire childhood.

"I don't think it's him, though," Dean suddenly said, causing both agents to frown, "but it's the only one I can remember. He might be able to tell you more."

Morgan was confused. "Why don't you think it's him?"

"Because if I remember correctly," Dean said, shifting his gaze between the two agent's, "he'll only be around seventeen by now. He was years ahead in high school, graduated when he was thirteen - I'm not sure, I didn't really pay him much attention."

"We'll talk to him," Prentiss simply said, "we won't take up more of your time."

Donna and Dean rose from their couch, extending their hands for the agents to shake it. They did so and left the house, both of them looking at each other with questions in their eyes. If – according to Dean Isner – Reid could not be their unsub, then who was? Perhaps Reid might be able to offer some answers.

**AN: Just to remain clear:**

**The victims are Roger Anderson, teacher at the same high school John Ferrer, Mike Roddick and Spencer Reid went to. Dean Isner and Logan Mayer both went to different schools.**

**Oh, and does anyone have a clue where I got the victims' last names from? You'll get a cookie if you guess right! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

**Warnings:** AU

**AN:** Thanks for the reviews! They made my day and hopefully, you guys won't stop now. But I'm not going to start rambling now because here is the next chapter! Enjoy...

**- The Wounded -**

**Chapter 3**

As usual, Morgan used his smooth, flirtatious voice when talking to the one woman who could find his entire life on the internet and data-banks. "Hey, baby girl," he said into the cellphone, "I need you to do something for me."

And as usual, a cheery response came, "Anything for you, my sweet."

In the corner of his eye, Morgan spotted Prentiss – who was driving the SUV - rolling her eyes, but he ignored her. A large smile played around the corners of his lips, however, a gesture he could not hide from his friend. "I need everything on a certain Spencer Reid," he said, turning away from Prentiss to look out of his window. His voice suddenly became deeper, more gravely as he focused back onto their case.

"Do you think he's the unsub?" Garcia asked, curiosity seeping through her words, as well as a little worry. It was well known that she hated the idea of her colleagues – her friends – being in possible danger. She had lived through all of it before; when Morgan had been a suspect, when she herself had gotten shot and when Hotch had lost his wife to a serial killer only months ago.

"I don't know," Morgan answered truthfully, but he needed Garcia focused and so he changed the tone of their conversation, "but we'll be able to tell soon enough if you can work your usual wonders."

A soft chuckle sounded on the other end of the line, "I love it when you talk like that. I'll get back to you as soon as I have something;"

The line disconnected and Morgan turned back to look at Prentiss who was smirking behind the steering wheel. He eyed her dangerously, wondering what was on her mind right now, but Emily Prentiss was not a woman you could read easily. "What?"

"Nothing," Prentiss said in a matter of fact way, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. However, she slowly added, "She never does that with us, you know."

Morgan frowned, having difficulty with following Prentiss' train of thoughts. "Does what?" he asked. Only now did he began to understand what she might be talking about and he already began laughing before Prentiss could answer, "Flirting."

He continued to laugh.

-o-o-

When Spencer went to get the newspaper that had arrived hours before, he found they had also received mail. The only thing they usually received were bills and throwaways, but today a white envelope lay waiting. It was nameless but clearly destined for Spencer who knew no one would send anything to his mother.

Diana had no friends who would send her anything. _Then again_, Spencer thought bitterly, _ neither do I_.

He waited until he was inside the house again and opened the envelope whilst curiosity raced through his veins. He found no letter, but a picture in stead. Spencer's breath hitched inside his chest when he recognized the four boys in the photo. They stood smiling, their arms around each other's shoulders, indicating that they all shared a close friendship. He had seen three of them on the news, all reported murdered. Their faces were covered by three large X's here, clearly made by a sharp object. There was one face that was still clear and Spencer easily recalled the name; Dean Isner.

Spencer never forget names.

Slowly, he placed the photo on the table surface, staring at it as if he waited on something to happen. It felt like those three pair of eyes of the crossed-out faces were looking right at him, accusing him while Dean Isner just smiled.

Bile suddenly rose in Spencer's throat for a second time that day, but he hadn't eaten anything yet so he couldn't actually throw up. With surprisingly steady hands, he turned the photo to reveal one single word written on the back.

'_Soon..._'

The word should be ominous, but Spencer felt nothing when he read it. It was obvious to him what it meant since there was only one boy left in the picture. One bully still alive. He felt like he should call the police or something - warn them - but he assumed that they already made the connection between the murders and Dean Isner. Anyone with a little bit of brains could do that.

_And for Mr. Anderson_, Spencer thought, _he deserved better than to have died like that_. Sure he had stood by and done nothing whilst the bullying had continued, but what else could he have done? The principal had already punished the band of bullies a hundred times before, but that never stopped them. Anderson had done all he could.

Yet, Spencer could not shake that feeling that was slowly beginning to settle itself in his stomach. He knew someone was out there killing these men, taking his revenge and he could only guess who the murderer was. Many had been bullied in high school after all. So had those bullies not - in the end - deserved it just a little bit?

-o-o-

Hotch looked up when he saw Morgan and Prentiss entering their small conference room. "How were things with Dean Isner?" he asked, putting the coroner's report of the latest victim on the table. It didn't reveal anything they didn't already know.

"He had no idea who could be our unsub," Morgan explained, placing his hands in his sides, "but he did give us a name of someone who might be able to tell us more. Garcia is looking into it right now."

Hotch nodded, feeling pleased that they had a lead at last . This case proved to be more difficult than first anticipated which unnerved the Unite Chief. "Good."

"Anything new here?" Prentiss asked, nodding towards the file Hotch had just put down.

"Signs of overkill," he answered, crossing his arms before his chest. His eyes trailed from Prentiss to Morgan and back. "First his throat was cut which caused him to bleed out within seconds and after his death, he got stabbed another fifteen times which is the same for the other murders. These kills are personal which is nothing we didn't know already." Something in his voice changed then. "Their times of death are significant, though. They have all been murdered between 6 and 12 pm."

Morgan instantly came to the conclusion Hotch had made a few moments earlier while reading the report, "This guy probably has a steady job during the day, forcing him to make the kills during the evening."

Their conversation was interrupted by JJ and Rossi entering the room. Hotch greeted them solemnly, knowing they just finished the press conference. He could tell by the looks on their faces that it had not been an easy one.

JJ's next words quickly proved him right, "Those reporters out there are too exhausting. You should have heard the questions they kept asking."

"What questions?" Prentiss asked.

"They wanted to know each detail of the murders," JJ sighed, "I guess those kind of things sell their papers."

Rossi stepped forward. "I gave them our profile and asked the people out there to keep an eye out for anyone fitting the description. Let's hope someone will recognize this person."

A loud ringing suddenly filled the room and Morgan grabbed his phone from his pocket. He casually flipped it open and pressed the speaker-button, allowing everyone in the room to hear the conversation. "You're on speaker, Garcia," he said.

"So I did a wide search for Spencer Reid," she instantly came to business, "he just turned seventeen last month and is currently living with his mother. His parents, Diana and William Reid, divorced when he was eight and there doesn't seem to be any contact between father and son." In the background, the team could hear a keyboard clicking away. "Now, Diana is a former college professor, but she stopped teaching due to medical reasons. I can't really find what exactly and apparently, she hasn't left her house much since then. Spencer Reid graduated high school when he was twelve and I can't find any record that he went to a university or college after that."

Hotch interrupted her, needing more information on that subject, "What does he do then?"

"Not much it seems," Garcia explained, sighing softly, "all I can find is that they buy food at the local market and pay their bills when they have to. Spencer has a personal bank account, but there isn't much activity there either. His library card on the other hand..."

Prentiss pushed her hair behind her ears. The frown creasing her forehead revealed that she found this making little sense. "If he graduated high school at the age of 12, then he's probably extremely intelligent."

"His IQ has never been tested as far as I can see," Garcia said, the sound of her fingers racing across a keyboard becoming louder again, "but you have to be brilliant to be able to read eight books a week."

"What?" Morgan sounded confused.

The team could hear a faint smile on Garcia's lips as she explained, "He goes to the library once a week and each time, he takes eight books with him, ranging from fiction to non-fiction. I assume he reads them all so yeah, I think he's pretty smart."

"If he doesn't go to school," Rossi thought out loud, "then he probably has a lot of free time at his hands. Could he be our unsub?"

Morgan shook his head. "According to Dean Isner, he isn't and he doesn't fit our profile either."

Garcia's voice sounded through the phone again, "I sent you the address."

"Thanks, Garcia," Morgan told her before shutting his phone. He turned his gaze towards the rest of his team. "Let's go talk to this kid."

It was then that Barry Lannister entered the room, a thick file under his arms and a worried expression on his face. "You'll want to come with me," he said, sounding exhausted, "there has been another murder."

Prentiss' eyes widened. "Dean Isner?"

Lannister turned to look at the female agent and shook his head, seemingly confused to be hearing that name. "No," he answered, taking the file from underneath his arm and opening it, reading something on the first page, "his name is Cameron Clarck. He's – or was a real estate agent, married with two kids."

Rossi frowned. "No connection to the other victims?"

"None that we can find," Lannister sighed, "we even checked if his kids are going to the same school Roger Anderson taught at, but nothing."

"We'll find something linking them," Hotch said, determination in his voice, "Rossi, you'll go with me to this crime scene. Morgan and Prentiss, go to Spencer Reid and talk to him. JJ, please make sure the press doesn't jump to any conclusions regarding this murder."

The team all nodded and sprung into action. It seemed there would be more victims than anticipated and they needed to find this unsub as soon as possible.

And hopefully, Spencer Reid could help them with that.

**AN: I'll make you a deal; because little actually happened in this chapter (though it was a necessary chapter in my opinion), I promise to update **_**tomorrow**_**. Next chapter will contain the first meeting between Reid and the BAU. All very exiting! However, I will only update so quickly if a get some reviews, people! I know, I'm evil that way...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

**Warnings:** AU

**AN: **All those reviews! It blew me away because I was so thrilled! You guys are amazing so here is the next chapter. As promised, Reid meets (some members of) the BAU. Enjoy :)

**- The Wounded -**

**Chapter 4**

Hotch found the woman standing before him small and fragile. Her blonde hair was pulled together in a messy bun, her make-up had already disappeared due to her never ending tears and her eyes were bloodshot, red skin around them. Even the tip of her noise was red. He couldn't help feel sorry for her. "I am sorry for your loss, Ms. Clarck," he said in his usual professional voice, "do you mind if we ask you some questions?"

Ms. Clarck folded her arms before her chest, her gaze finally focusing on the Unite Chief standing before her. Slowly, as if Hotch's words had only reached her now, she nodded. "Do you know who did this?" She asked, her voice shaking.

It was Rossi who answered, "That's what we are trying to figure out."

There was a short moment of silence, the woman regaining some of her composure in the mean time. She inhaled deeply and settled her eyes on the two FBI agents standing before her. Hotch could tell she felt uncomfortable, but this was a process that needed to be fulfilled. "Your husband," he said, "he was a real estate agent?"

Ms. Clarck simply nodded. "Why?"

Hotch hated the feeling that he could not answer her question honestly. He didn't know why it mattered what Mr. Clarck did for a living, he just knew he had to find the connection. "Does he sometimes go the Las Vegas public High School?," he continued, "Do you know if he has any connection to that place?"

A deep frown filled Ms. Clarck kind face and her gaze shifted between Hotch and Rossi. The distrust within her was growing and Hotch knew there was nothing he could do about her. These questions were difficult after all. "No, our daughters go to a private school. We've never been near that place actually."

Hotch nodded. "What about the following names; John Ferrer, Mike Roddick, Logan Mayer or Roger Anderson?" He paused a moment to carefully examine any expression that would pass Ms. Clarck's eyes. She only seemed more confused.

"No," she said quickly, irritation seeping through her voice now, "we've never met them, but we heard about their murders on the news of course. Do you think Cameron was murdered by the same killer?" Panic replaced the irritation in her voice.

Rossi smiled reassuringly, but Ms. Clarck only eyed him dangerously. "That's what we are investigating now," Rossi said. They couldn't jump to any conclusion, not with nothing linking this man to all the previous victims.

As if on cue, all the tension from Ms. Clarck's shoulders disappeared. More tears began streaming down her face, sobs escaping her lips. "Please find whoever did this," she begged, "_please_. My husband was a good man, a good father. He never denied our children anything. He doesn't deserve this."

Hotch watched how the woman before him was slowly breaking apart and he could only offer her some kind words. He knew they wouldn't do much good. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

-o-o-

Prentiss knocked two times on the door, waiting for any sign of life inside the house they were currently visiting. It was a small house, but well kept. However the little garden to the side of the house was in desperate need of mowing and wild flowers grew all around the place. Prentiss could see that someone was trying to keep it all neat, but failed in the process.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing an older woman who must be Diana Reid, dressed in a gown and bathing wrap. Her short blonde hair stuck into different directions and her lips were pressed together into two, thin lines. Her hands rested on her hips and her eyes stood wide, _wild_. "What do you want?" she snapped. Her eyes instantly trailed to the guns strapped to the agent's belts.

Prentiss remained polite and produced a kind smile. "Hello. I am agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI, this is agent Morgan. We were wondering-"

"_No_," Diana's response came quick, "get out! I don't anyone from the government in here. I know what it is you're trying to do, but it won't work. You two are nothing but dangerous, hypocritical, sneaking-"

"_Mom_." A young boy – Spencer Reid - appeared from behind the woman. His long brown hair fell before his eyes which he quickly moved back behind his ear. He appeared small and frail for his age and much, _much_ younger than seventeen. When Prentiss looked into his hazel brown eyes, however, she found them oddly wise and she felt taken aback by them.

"Sweety," Diana said sternly, never removing her eyes from the two strangers standing on her porch "these people are from the _FBI_."

There was a short pause and Spencer shifted uncomfortably. "They are okay, mom" he eyed the two agents carefully as if he were trying to send them a message, "they're friends of mine so you can trust them."

Diana turned to look at her son, almost as if she was weighing down his words. "Are you sure?" Her voice suddenly sounded much softer and loving, a gesture which made Prentiss smile faintly.

Spencer nodded. "Yes, I'm sure._ Trust me_."

A long moment passed again – one the agents didn't dare disturb - but Diana eventually turned her back towards them and disappeared back inside the house. They instantly noticed relief flooding Spencer's eyes.

"Sorry about that," the young boy said apologetically, "she doesn't like the government, but who can blame her, right? The USA Patriot Act increased the powers appointed to the FBI, especially in wire-tapping and monitoring internet activity. It also granted them permission to search a house while the residents are away, not even having to notify those residents for several weeks afterwards."

There followed a new silence while Spencer looked down to his feet, his cheeks having turned a bright pink. "I talk a lot when I get nervous."

It was Morgan who spoke firstly, taking a step forward as he did so. "My name is Derek Morgan and this is Emily Prentiss," he introduced themselves again, "obviously-" he smirked "we are with the FBI. Can we come in?"

Spencer nodded, stepping aside and showing the agents towards the kitchen. He watched how they carefully gazed around and figured they were looking for his mother. "My mom won't bother us again, she's probably locked herself in her bedroom until you're gone."

Prentiss nodded and asked, "She does that often - locking herself in her bedroom I mean?"

Spencer shrugged, "She's a paranoid schizophrenic. She doesn't trust anyone or anything for that matter. On her bad days, she even yells at the TV to stop monitoring her every move."

Morgan frowned. Garcia never mentioned the specific nature of Diana's illness and he knew she would have had she found anything. In stead, she had only mentioned her career ending due to medical reasons. The dark skinned agent took a step towards the young boy. "Did a doctor give her that diagnosis?"

"No," Spencer said in a matter of fact way, "but she has the symptoms and I've read enough books to be able to make that conclusion."

Both FBI agents gazed at the teenage boy standing before them.

A nervous chuckle escaped Spencer's lips. "Did I freak you out?"

Prentiss shook her head and said, "No, but it's pretty amazing you can make that conclusion."

"I'm smart," Reid shrugged, "nothing special."

Morgan frowned, looking the young genius straight in the eyes. "That is special, Spencer, you are obviously a brilliant mind and I hate to see it go to waist like this."

Spencer blinked. "_Don't_."

"_Don't_?"

If he could, Spencer would have stared a whole through Morgan's skull. "Don't call me Spencer," he said, suddenly fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, "only my mom calls me that. Call me Reid." The lie could be read ever so clearly in his eyes and Spencer felt relief when the agents didn't ask any more questions about it. "So how can I help you?"

"You know why we are here, Reid," Prentiss was the one to say, "you know the men that have been murdered."

"They bullied me," Spencer said instantly, not caring to hide the fact that he did know them or that his connection with them was rather negative, "at least, the three young men did. Mr. Anderson stood by and watched, but I don't blame him. There was nothing he could do in the end. Can't say I feel sorry about their deaths though."

Morgan stared right back at Spencer. "You're very honest."

Spencer leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms before his chest. He figured a normal teenager would feel intimated by the FBI's presence, but he just wanted to be honest with them so that this was over. "Why hide it," he explained, "you are profilers so you're able to tell if people lie or not."

Prentiss laughed quietly. "Sometimes."

"But why _exactly_ are you here?" Spencer asked, shifting his gaze between the two agents.

Morgan inhaled deeply. He was a little taken aback by the straight forwardness of this kid, and quiet honestly, his intelligence was freaking him out. He doubted he was smarter than this teenager which somehow unsettled him greatly – not that he would show anyone that.

"We were hoping you might be able to shed some new light onto the case," Prentiss said when Morgan stayed silent, "perhaps you know someone who might be capable of murdering these men? Someone who went to high school with you?"

"Those men," Spencer said, surprisingly cold, "bullied over a hundred kids throughout high school. The only reason you are here is because someone remembered me which isn't that hard since I was twelve when I finally left that place."

"Dean Isner told us about you," Morgan said, thinking that honesty would get them the best cooperation of this kid. If Spencer thought they could read his every lie, then Morgan couldn't help feel that the kid could see straight through theirs. "He never spoke to any of his old friends since he left high school. He's honestly sorry for what he did back then."

Spencer snorted, dropping his arms. "Of course he is."

"But those murders," Prentiss said, ignoring that last comment, "they are wrong."

Suddenly, Spencer's eyes widened, shifting through the entire kitchen. Something had unsettled him and he was having trouble hiding it. "I know they're wrong." Accusation lay in his voice. "My mother taught me about right or wrong, agents, and I would never wish death upon anyone."

"But you think they had it coming." It was as if Morgan was reading his mind. "You understood what was happening, who was getting killed and why, but you never informed the police. Why is that?"

Slowly, as if he were trying to control his every movement, Spencer looked past the two agents and gazed at a closed door. He instantly regretted it and closed his eyes. Only when he heard Morgan's voice did he open them again.

"What's down there?"

Hesitation was settling in the young boy who appeared younger with every passing second. "Nothing," he said in a hard voice, "only my bedroom."

Morgan's eyes widened. "Can we have a look around?" He already turned on his heels and headed towards the white door. Something lay behind it, something Spencer didn't want them to see and Morgan could feel it was important. If Spencer wasn't willing to cooperate, then they would have to push him a bit.

Spencer's entire body tensed. "Do you have a warrant?"

_Silence_.

"If you don't have anything to hide..." Prentiss' voice was much softer than Morgan's at this point. She even seemed compassionate, but Spencer only eyed her with vigilance. "Come on, Reid, we are just trying to help and we know that you aren't the unsub-"

"_Unsub_?" Spencer's voice shook.

"Unknown Subject," she continued gently, "the killer. We saw how you suddenly looked at your bedroom and tensed like you have something to hide. If you truly think these murders are wrong and you know something, then you should tell us."

Spencer bit down on his lip and watched how Morgan approached his door. He said nothing as the agent disappeared into the small bedroom and waited patiently for him to find it. It wasn't even that difficult to miss since it lay openly on his desk and Spencer cursed himself for his nonchalance.

Not a minute later, the dark skinned agent returned, the picture of the four friends in his hand.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up the photo for both Spencer and Prentiss to see. "I think it's best if you come down to the station with us, kiddo. You're in a lot of trouble"

Reid only swallowed heavily.

**AN: Please don't stop the reviews now. The more I get, the sooner I will update!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

**Warnings:** AU

**AN:**I was so happy with all the reviews! I kept bouncing up and down, dancing and singing (don't worry, no one could hear me). Seriously, you guys rock! Oh, and I don't think I ever answered my own question: yes, I took the last names from tennis players. A few guessed (one of you cheated, but you still get a cookie!) so I'll better get baking. Ha. Don't pay any attention to my chatter. It's been a hectic week so I'm sorry for the late update.

One more thing; I keep referring to Hotch as Hotchner because this is Reid's POV and he wouldn't even know everyone calls the Unite Chief Hotch. Does that make sense?

Anyways, enjoy!

**- The Wounded -**

**Chapter 5**

As Spencer was being guided through the police station, he could feel all eyes fall upon him. He wasn't a prisoner - he didn't even think the agents considered him a suspect - but he was treated with caution. Morgan's hand never left his shoulder and Spencer kept his head down, suddenly feeling like a little monkey in a zoo.

It was only when they entered a small interrogation room that the dark skinned FBI agent let go of him and Spencer gazed around. He had seen it all a million times already in movies, but actually standing inside an interrogation room made him shudder. With doubt in his eyes he turned to look behind him.

Only now did he notice that Prentiss had gone which he found a shame. He liked that woman and perhaps trusted her – if trust was something he could already call it. As Morgan motioned towards the far back chair, Spencer hesitantly sat down. Knowing that he was a minor and here willingly brought the young genius some sort of relief. If he wanted, he could walk out of here or at least demand a lawyer.

Spencer watched how Morgan took a seat opposite the table and only after a few seconds did the door open again. For a short moment Spencer hoped it might be Prentiss, but in stead, a very serious looking man entered the room. He wore an expensive looking suit, his dark hair short and his eyes never leaving his as soon as he entered.

"I am agent Hotchner," he introduced himself, "we have some questions for you."

Taking in a deep breath, Spencer ordered himself to calm down. Did he honestly have anything to fear? Yes, there had been a rather disturbing photo laying in his bedroom, but that was hardly any proof that he was somehow involved in the murders. "All right," he said, knowing exactly what to expect from this conversation.

Agent Hotchner stretched out his arm, only now revealing a see-through evidence bag he had been holding. In it was the picture of the four bullying friends and Spencer couldn't help but look away this time.

It was Morgan who broke the awkward silence – that was how Spencer experienced it anyway. "Who sent you this?"

Slowly, Spencer lifted his eyes to meet the gaze of the two agents evenly before shrugging. "I don't know."

"It's clearly meant for you," agent Hotchner said, his eyes growing in size. His voice remained calm, something which Spencer somehow had not expected. "'_Soon'_, What does that mean?" He pushed the picture even closer towards the teenage boy.

"Four men are in the picture," Spencer said, shifting his gaze between the two agents, still refusing to look at the piece of evidence, "three of them have a cross over their heads. One still remains. I think we all know what 'soon' means."

Morgan leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes very serious. "Kid, this is serious. Why didn't you contact the police? The unsub sent you this which means something to us. He knows you, he has a connection with you."

Spencer nodded his head, finally daring to look at the picture with both agent's scrutinising eyes on him. "He was bullied like me," he said, knowing this was the truth, "a hundred different people could have send me that. This - your so-called connection means _nothing_."

Not having thought it possible, Spencer watched agent Hotchner's eyes darken. "How do you know he was bullied?" he asked, his question appearing to have come out of nothing. Even Morgan shot him a quick, confused glance. "We released a profile to the media – something you have no doubt seen or read - but never did we mention he was bullied by those men."

Spencer wasn't taken aback by the agent's deduction. "Why else would he be doing this?" Spencer gazed deep into Hotchner's eyes, refusing to feel intimidated by them. He didn't even know this man, but already he could not imagine the agent to smile or even _blink_. Had agent Hotchner blinked since he had entered the room? Spencer shook those thoughts away and focused on the conversation again.

He continued, his voice steady, "I have followed the news, read the papers. They all mentioned overkill which means the murders were personal. The fact that three of them are about the same age and used to be a tight group of friends only suggest that they have a shared history and Mr. Anderson was a teacher. Conclusion, the unsub went to the same high school and is between 20 and 25 years old. Bullies never pick out strong kids, or once with a larger group of friends than their own so it is safe to say that your unsub was a loner, a nerd. Just like me. That should narrow down the list of potential suspects."

Both Hotchner and Morgan stared at the boy before them.

Agent Hotchner sighed softly. "We did come to the conclusion that the unsub is a former bullied classmate," he said, "but there has been a new murder and we can't find any connection and the overkill was...less than with previous victims. Does the name Cameron Clarck mean anything to you?"

If Spencer had been able to control his body and emotions before, then he lost it completely now. His face drained of all colour and his hands began to tremble so he quickly withdrew them, hiding them underneath the table. He wished the agents would not see his change in behaviour, but they were profilers. They probably already had an explanation in their heads for this.

Spencer pressed his lips together, his mind racing to find his own explanation.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hotchner said softly, no accusation laying in his voice.

"Kid, are you okay?"

Only now was Spencer vaguely aware that Morgan had just asked him a question, but he could only focus on the nauseating feeling that was quickly consuming his body. "He's- He's dead?"

Morgan nodded.

Silence.

Spencer turned away from the agents, pressing a hand over his lips and refusing to vomit, not now and certainly not here. He cursed himself for losing control like this and he fought back the tears that were trying to invade his eyes, but he knew it was losing battle.

"Reid, talk to us," Morgan said worriedly, reaching out a hand, but Spencer withdrew even further, "come on, kid, don't shut us out now."

Reid breathed through his fingers, "I want to go home now. I don't have anything to do with this. I swear that I don't know who is killing these men." He rose from his chair and watched how the agents followed his example. "Can I please go?"

There was a slight hesitation in Hotchner's eyes and his stoic, stiff appearance had suddenly vanished. He looked softer somehow, almost caring and definitely worried. "We can't keep you here," he said, "but if you talk to us, we can help you. If you are in danger-"

"No," Spencer said quickly, shaking his head and feeling his tears stream down his cheeks. Angry with himself, he rubbed a hand across his face and inhaled deeply. "I never bullied anyone, remember? I can't be a target so I'm not in danger. If anything, that picture just proofs that the unsub feels for me, that he knows what I have been through."

"But Cameron Clarck..." Morgan didn't finish his sentence when he saw Spencer tense at the name, his breathing irregular and his hands balled into fists.

"I never wanted it," Spencer's voice sounded ghost-like, "I swear I never wanted it."

Slowly, very deliberately, Morgan stepped around the table and the distance between him and the teenage boy grew smaller. It was only a matter of time before he stood directly before Spencer and placed a hand on his shoulder, a comforting gesture that the young boy almost appreciated. He quickly shrugged away the hand, however, Mr. Clarck still on his mind.

"Okay, okay," Morgan said, raising both his hands as to show that he wouldn't harm him in any way, "is there anything we can get you? Something to drink perhaps?"

After taking in a deep breath, hoping it would calm him, Spencer nodded. "Coffee?"

"All right," Morgan smiled faintly.

Spencer watched how agent Hotchner turned towards the one-way-mirror that was behind him and nodded once. He should have known there were someone behind it, perhaps more than someone. Agent Prentiss probably was. Who else had been watching him falling apart?

"Please sit, Reid," Hotchner said, picking up the picture of the four friends and turning it face down. The room suddenly appeared less threatening and Spencer allowed himself to sit. He was grateful that he was off his feet because his knees felt weak and his hands were still trembling.

"You do know Mr. Clarck," Morgan said as he resumed his place across the table.

Spencer nodded absent-mindedly, watching how a woman with long blonde hair, blue eyes and an FBI-badge on her belt entered the room, carrying a large mug of steaming coffee. She placed it before him and shot him an encouraging smile. Spencer instantly liked her, but he needed to focus on the two other agents. "I only know him as Mr. Cameron," he began to explain, "and I see him at least once a week. Sometimes more, but it depends on him really. I don't know how it started, but one time I was in the park – reading - and he approached me."

"When was this?" Hotchner asked, needing every detail he could get.

"Two years, five months and seven days ago," said Spencer as if he had rehearsed that answer a million times already. He didn't know why he knew these kind of trivial things, but he just did. "He offered me money if I agreed to go with him. We never went to his house because he was afraid his wife might come home early or something. It's easier to come up with a lie for being home late than to explain why you're in bed with a fifteen year old boy."

He carefully watched the agent's reaction to his story, but he found they remained surprisingly untouched by it. He didn't blame them since they had probably heard worse tales than his. They were the BAU after all and hunting serial killers was their daily job. He wouldn't be surprised to find that even the most gruesome crime scenes left them untouched.

"Like I said, I never wanted it, but with my mother ill..." he trailed off, lost in his thoughts. The way he had said those words almost made it look like he blamed her which he did not. He loved his mother and it wasn't her fault that this had happened. Or that she was a paranoid schizophrenic for that matter.

Morgan's voice called him back. "Reid?"

"Mr. Cameron always called me Spencer or Spence," he continued, "that's why I don't like to be called by my first name. My mother doesn't even call me that. She just says sweety or honey and on her bad days a traitor or imposter working for the government."

"It must be difficult living like that," Hotchner said in an earnest voice.

"It is," Spencer admitted reluctantly, "but I managed to make it work. I earned more money which I used to be pay bills and Mr. Cameron wasn't always...so rough. I could live with myself knowing that I had little other choice. If I had gone to the police or social services, my mother would have been placed in a mental facility and I would have ended up in foster care. Did you know that an estimated of 423.773 children are currently in foster care? That's actually 76.69 percent of Nevada's entire population." He watched Hotchner gaze at him with amazement in his eyes and Spencer only now realized he had been rambling again. "Sorry."

Morgan tried to shoot him his most charming smile, but it came out a little shaking. "You talk a lot when you're nervous," he recalled from his first encounter with the genius boy.

"So if someone goes from killing three old classmate and a former teacher to killing someone that is directly linked to me," Spencer said carefully, not knowing if he would even like the answer, "what does that mean?"

Hotchner sighed. "We'll figure it out."

**AN: So what does this all mean for our favourite genius? You'll found out soon because I solemly swear that the next update will happen on Sunday. But please, brighten my (very rainy) days by leaving a short message!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it.

**Warnings:** AU

**AN:** Thank you so much for all the reviews! They make me happy! As promised, here is the next chapter and I hope you'll enjoy it. I'm not going to ramble this time because I knew it's pointless. Here it goes...

**- The Wounded -**

**Chapter 6**

Spencer folded both his hands around the mug standing before him. The coffee he had received from the blonde FBI agent was gone and the stone was now cold, but somehow, Spencer felt a reassurance holding it. Perhaps it was because it offered him something to hold on to. His mind was still spinning with a thousand different thoughts and emotions.

Only a few hours ago the entire situation with the murders had been distant, as if it wasn't really his concern in the first place, but now that Mr. Cameron had been murdered as well... A shudder ran down Spencer's back and he swallowed heavily, trying to make some sense out of everything. Did he even feel sorry for his death? Was he to blame? Mr. Cameron might have...different tastes, but he did have a family. _Had_ a family?

Spencer held his breath, not wanting to think about those kind of questions. He suddenly longed to be home, to feel the presence of his mother and look upon her with a faint smile. Was it sad he wanted to be in her arms right now, safe and sound? Spencer refused to think so. He might be a genius, but that didn't mean he could handle this situation entirely on his own because as much as he tried to convince everyone around him, he _wasn't_ an adult.

When the door of the interrogation room opened, he watched agent Morgan enter and instantly locked eyes with him. "I want to go home," he said, watching the profiler's reaction carefully, "Please, can I go home?"

Morgan sighed heavily and halted just before the table. For a moment it appeared as if he wanted to fold his arms before his chest, but Spencer noticed how the agent suddenly changed his mind, keeping both his arms besides his body. Perhaps he was trying to come off as less threatening? Spencer wasn't in the mood to go analysing body movements.

"This is where you are the safest, kid," Morgan said, his voice surprisingly soft, "we can protect you here."

"I don't need protection," Spencer continued to stare into Morgan's eyes, "the profile tells you that. I'm not a victim, I will never be. If anything, the unsub wants to help me."

There was a short pause and Spencer knew Morgan was weighing down his words. "We can't keep you here since you're a minor and technically we need your mother's approval for even having you here. So I guess you're free to go, but let us help you at least."

The mere prospect of going home made Spencer smile and he could only nod his head. He didn't care what Morgan had in mind when he spoke about 'protecting' him.

-o-o-

When Spencer finally found himself standing in the small hallway of his house, he felt exhaustion creeping up to him. The time at the police station had drained him and Spencer longed for some sleep. He gazed back through the window of the front door to find a black SUV parked just outside and he wondered how long the car would stay there.

Slowly, he turned his gaze to his left and saw that his mother's bedroom door was carefully shut, telling the young genius that Diana was not about to exit her room any time soon. She usually left her door slightly ajar, claiming that she wanted to hear her son's every movement and breath in the house, but not today. She only closed her door when she was extremely paranoid and for once, Spencer couldn't blame her.

"Thanks for bringing me home," he said while turning on his heels and finding Morgan and Prentiss standing in the kitchen already. He walked closer towards them and noticed how they were both examining the close environment as if searching for more clues. "Could you please go now?"

The question had left his mouth much harder than he intended.

"I would much rather stick around just a bit longer," Morgan said in a playful voice, yet Spencer knew exactly what he meant by that. They didn't want to leave him from their sight, believing that the unsub might contact him again, perhaps even personally. They wanted to be around to watch his every move.

"I know," Spencer sighed softly, looking directly into Morgan's brown eyes, "but I have to talk to my mother. I'm sure she hasn't eaten all day and as long as you two are around, she isn't coming out of her room. So please."

Morgan and Prentiss exchanged a quick glance before nodding and already, Spencer felt relief flood him. "All right," Prentiss said, "but we are going to place a discrete car down the street so that someone is nearby all the time. I know you don't like that, but it's for your own good."

"Thanks."

-o-o-

Hotch, staring at the board with all the evidence, pulled open his phone and held it before him. "Garcia, you're on speaker." Since Prentiss and Morgan were with Spencer Reid, that only left him, Rossi and JJ currently in the police station.

Garcia's words came somewhat unexpected. "How did the meeting with that kid go?"

"It went fine," Hotch told her, rolling his eyes as he felt there was little time to be discussing Spencer Reid at the moment. They hadn't gotten any closer to finding the unsub and as every hour passed, the chances of finding another body grew. "Tell me you got something."

"I narrowed down your list of potential suspects to forty," Garcia started rambling, "I know that's still a lot, but I searched for all males between twenty and thirty that went to the Las Vegas high school which is a _large_ school and only put those on the list that have a steady day job, don't seem to have much of a social life and live in an apartment or a small house."

"Or profile also says the unsub is fit and strong," Rossi added, a faint frown creasing his brow, "have you been able to include those factors?"

"No," Garcia said, sounding disappointed, "because these men don't usually go to an actual fitness club."

Hotch exhaled. "Our unsub is somehow connected to Spencer Reid," he said, putting together the different pieces of the puzzle, "Garcia, can you search for anyone that had a close connection to him during high school? Perhaps they went to a same club or something?"

There was a short pauze with only the clicking of a keyboard coming through the call. "I am looking through data which I pulled from old year books. Spencer Reid wasn't in many clubs during high school, but I do have four names overlapping between these two lists."

"Read them," JJ said, walking towards their white board and picking up a felt pen.

"All right, let's see," more clicking of a keyboard, "there is one Lucas Hale, a Chandler Dorian, Ryan Summers and Daniel Collins. I will send addresses right about...now."

Hotch suppressed a smile trying to break through. "Thank you, Garcia. Let us know if you find anything else."

"Garcia out." The line disconnected and Hotch closed the phone.

"All right," he turned towards the rest of his team, "that narrows it down. I'll get Morgan on the phone, he should be with Spencer and perhaps he can recall any of these men and point us in the right direction." He dialled a new number and waited patiently for an answer. Morgan's phone quickly sounded through the line. "Morgan, is Spencer with you?"

"_No, we're on our way back to the station. There is a protective detail before his house right now._"

Hotch silently cursed the situation. They couldn't afford to lose any more time now that the day was coming to an end. There was a chance already that their unsub was killing someone right now. "We need to talk to him again," Hotch said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "we have four names and we need to know if he remembers anyone. Perhaps he'll recognize someone."

"_We'll go back. I'll call when I'm have something_."

-o-o-

Spencer pressed his ear against the wood of the door and closed his eyes, trying to remember how long he had been standing there. "Mom, please open the door, it's me, _Spencer_."

For the first time in what felt like hours, Spencer received an answer, although it wasn't one that gave him comfort. "You're working for the government, aren't you," Diana's voice was filled with accusation.

"No, mom," Spencer sighed, not in the mood for another crisis. It had been such a tiring day and all he really wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep. "I would never do that," he told her through the door, "I know how much you would hate that fact. I'm just your son and I really want to see you. I _need_ to see you."

Tears had begun to well up in his eyes and Spencer had noticed the insecure tremble in his voice. He knew his mother had as well.

There was a short silence followed by the turning of a lock and Spencer quickly stepped back, watching his mother finally gazing at him with intense eyes. Spencer didn't know why he did it, but he rushed forward and threw his arms around her shoulders. Diana tensed under his touch, but finally relaxed and returned the hug. "What did they do to you, sweety?"

Spencer inhaled deeply, enjoying the way his mother had called him sweety. It was far better than traitor or spy. Could it really be that this was his _mother_ holding him? "Nothing," he said, letting go of his mother, "I just missed you, that's all."

"Look at you," Diana's eyes moved up and down her son's body, "much too thin. Have you eaten properly today?"

Spencer was slightly taken aback by his mother alertness. It had been a long time since she was this..._sane_. He once again hugged her, knowing that the moment wouldn't last very long, hours at most and so he wanted to make most of it now. "Let's eat," he said, finding a worried mother staring back at him, "because I _am_ hungry."

"I'll cook something," Diana smiled.

Spencer chuckled, "You can't cook, mom. Let me take care of it."

Diana smiled and nodded, following her son towards the kitchen. "Someone came by this afternoon," she said, starting to bite her nails as she spoke. It was a habit she could never leave, betraying that she always felt something was wrong anyway. "He seemed like a nice young man, you should have more friends like him."

Spencer froze and turned on his heels to look at her. His voice was barely stronger than a whisper, "He was here?"

"He talked to me about your high school period," Diana explained, unaware of her son's sudden distress – which was very unusual, but Spencer simply kept on staring at her, "about how you were the best at playing chess. I told him you still are, but he knew that of course, he appeared to know quiet a lot about you actually."

Spencer swallowed heavily.

Diana merely continued, "He said he wanted to come by again so I told him you'd be home soon enough, that the police couldn't keep you long at the station."

His heart beat in his chest as if it were trying to leap away from him and panic rose in his mind. No, this was more than panic, this was terror and Spencer bit down on his lip. He needed to stay focused. "He knows I spoke to the police?" His voice shot in the air which did cause his mother to look at him strangely. "What was his name, mom?"

"He's your friend, honey," Diana almost seemed to reprimand him, "how can you not know the name of your friend?"

"He's not my friend, mom!" He took a step towards her and grabbed her hand tightly, gazing straight into her light eyes. "He's dangerous and you should never let him into the house again."

Diana eyed him suspiciously, but it wasn't her voice that made his blood run cold suddenly.

"It hurts to hear that, Spencer."

Spencer spun around, finding himself standing before a strong, young man who seemed to have come from his mother's bedroom as well. Coldness washed over the young genius as he realised that the unsub had been here the entire time already, he had been here while Morgan and Prentiss had been present. Spencer whimpered softly and stepped back.

The intruder had short blond hair and soft brown eyes in which something lay hidden; something Spencer couldn't quite place. It was a gaze he had never seen before in his eyes, in _Daniel's_ eyes because he would never forget a face. Spencer never forgot anything. He stumbled back even further, finding himself trapped between a murderer and an utterly confused mother. He needed to act quickly and set priorities so he turned to look at Diana, forcing himself to stay calm.

"Please go to your room, mom," he said, keeping his voice as smooth as possible, "I need some time with...my friend." He watched Diana nod happily and felt her hand on his cheek for a moment. Oh, how he missed his mother.

"I won't bother you," Diana told him, dropping her hand back to her side, "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about." She disappeared then, leaving her son all alone with the murderer of five men. Slowly, he turned back to Daniel and his eyes instantly fell to the sharp knife resting in Daniel's hand. "I'm sorry," Spencer apologized, "I didn't mean to say those things about you."

"You're right, Spencer," Daniel sounded very nonchalant, but the knife kept twisting between his fingers, "I am dangerous because I did do horrible things. Don't you agree, though, that they had it coming? I never intended to kill that filthy man who ever laid a hand on you, but seeing him pissed me off."

Spencer nodded quickly, _too_ quickly. "You protected me," he said, hoping that he knew exactly the right things to say to keep Daniel busy. There was a car right outside that was meant to protect him so why wasn't anyone busting in his door already? He needed to buy time, that was all that mattered. "I'm thankful for that, Daniel."

Daniel took a step closer towards him. "No," he said slowly, "I don't think you are. I did those things, I murdered those men because they made our life a living hell. I thought you would be glad they were dead, that I made them suffer."

"Honestly, I didn't feel anything when I learned they had died," Spencer hated it that he was speaking the truth this once, "but that's all behind us. They can't hurt us any more, no one can. High school is over, Daniel, and we should just move on."

"How can you say that?" Daniel sounded disgusted and he raised the knife until it almost touched Spencer's cheek. Where only a moment ago his mother's hand had rested, now lay the sharp tip of a knife. "We were miserable and I thought we had a bond. If we didn't have each other, then who did we have? We must stick together, Spencer, even now because there is still one bastard out there-"

"No," Spencer shook his head, "enough killing, Daniel, just stop. Turn yourself in, they'll understand why you did it."

Daniel snorted. "Don't lie to me," he said threateningly, "you've never been able to lie to me."

"I'm sorry," the young boy cried as the tip of the knife cut into his skin. He could instantly feel blood trickling down and he wanted to run away, but he found himself frozen, unable to move. "I'm sorry, Daniel, I won't lie to you again."

"I know you won't," Daniel smirked and his hand propelled forward, hitting Spencer in this face.

Spencer's world swam before his eyes, his vision blurring and his legs giving out and just before he hit the hard and cold stones beneath him, he fell unconscious, still wondering when someone would be busting down the door to help him.

**AN: Ha, that was so much fun to write, but not easy. I'm sorry if Diana is OOC or if her paranoid schizophrenia isn't correct, but I'm not a doctor or psychiatrist. Anyway, what do you think?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

**Warnings: AU (Reid is 17, but the BAU-team are the same)**

**AN: ****I am so sorry for the late update. I wish I had a decent reason or something, but the truth is that I just lost track of the story for a few days. But here I am again, with a brand new chapter. Enjoy!**

**- The Wounded -**

**Chapter 7**

Morgan knocked the door of Spencer's home and found it strangely quiet. There was no TV playing or music audible, but then again, Spencer wasn't a normal teenage boy who had normal teenage activities. The young genius had probably retreated back to his room and found an interesting book which he had read half a dozen times already. Morgan couldn't help but chuckle at that thought.

They waited another moment when Morgan suddenly called out, "Spencer?" Only now did he recall that the boy preferred the use of his last name. Morgan still had trouble believing how much this boy had gone through already in his short life. "Reid?"

Prentiss frowned and gazed around the front yard until she spotted the black surveillance car parked a few houses down the road. "He should be home," she said, her hand instinctively reaching for her gun. She stepped towards the front window and tried to peek through the curtains, but found no one inside. She shook her head when noticed that Morgan was looking at her.

He knocked on the door again, louder this time. "Reid, it's Morgan and Prentiss," he called, "open the door, kid, we need to talk."

Suddenly, the lock clicked and Morgan almost exhaled in relief until he stood face to face with the one woman he would have trouble communicating with. Diana Reid looked at him with large eyes that only carried vigilance. Her arms embraced her chest and her eyes narrowed when spotting the two federal agents.

"Hello, Ms. Reid," Morgan said politely, "do you remember me? I'm a friend of your son."

Diana shook her head. "My son would never be friends with agents of the FBI. You are all a bad influence."

Prentiss stepped back into view, getting the same glare as Morgan. "Ma'am," she said softly, "I know you care much for your son. He's a good boy, isn't he?"

Diana seemed taken aback and her arms dropped back down. "Of course he is a good boy," she said, her voice strong, "he's my son and I will protect him from you. His friend will protect him from you."

Morgan's eyebrows rose when he heard that sentence. He had not spoken much to Spencer about his personal life, but he knew for a fact that there had not been a mention of a friend. "His friend?"

Diana shifted her gaze between the two agent, but she seemed calmer which meant talking to her could proof to be a little easier than anticipated. "He was here a couple of minutes ago, you just missed him," she explained, "a sweet man, he cares for my boy, I could tell. They left together...I think."

Prentiss instantly grabbed for her cellphone and switched it open. "Do you know his name?" she asked, instantly getting a glare from Diana.

"He's a good man," she defended him while bringing a hand through her short, blond hair. Her eyes suddenly fell to the floor as she bit down on her lip. "But I forgot," she muttered, "I shouldn't forget things like that. I'm his _mother_, I should _know_ his name, I should _know _these things."

Prentiss threw her a kind smile. "It's alright," she said, knowing that getting angry wouldn't give her any answers, "just think back to when you first saw him; can you describe him?"

With her eyes closed, Diana inhaled deeply. "A normal looking guy," she began to describe, "with short brown hair, brown eyes and a small face. He was actually just an ordinary guy, although he did look tense."

There was a short pause which Morgan broke first. "Thank you, Diana," he said genuinely, "we'll bring Spencer home to you."

-o-o-

Hotch held his phone against his ear. "Yes, Prentiss?"

"_Reid is gone and we don't think he went willingly,_" she said, the words tumbling from her tongue, "_but Diana managed to give us a short description. Do you have pictures of those four potential unsubs?_"

"Yes," Hotch said, walking around the table and moving closer to the white board filled with photos and maps. The pictures of the four men who they suspected could be the murderer hung in the left corner and Hotch watched their faces with care.

Prentiss spoke again, "_He has brown hair and eyes and a small face. Diana said he looked ordinary._"

Hotch's eyes were instantly drawn to the face that belonged to Daniel Murray. He was the only one of the four men that fit the description. Two men had blonde hair and the third brunette had green eyes. It felt like a weight fell from his chest now that he knew who their unsub was, but they weren't out of the woods just yet. If this man had indeed kidnapped Spencer Reid, then finding him had just become their priority.

"Daniel Murray," he said, both to Prentiss on the phone as Rossi and JJ standing with him in the room, "he is our unsub. Garcia has already sent us the address. We'll get SWAT and meet you at his house in half an hour."

-o-o-

Spencer woke up groaning. A dull ache in the back of his head called his attention and the young genius gently rubbed the sore spot. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, but it all came crushing back. Daniel was the unsub and now he had taken him away from his home, from his mother.

Worry and panic coursed through his veins because he knew Diana was ill and shouldn't be left alone for too long. Only then did he remember the protective detail that had been placed in front of his house. Hopefully they were already onto something, but Spencer didn't even know how much time had passed.

"Gentle," a sudden voice crashed through his head, making Spencer wince, "I punched you in the face and you fell back. I tried to catch you before you hit the floor, but I was too late."

Spencer, only now realising that his eyes were still closed, opened them to find himself laying on a bed - a rather comfortable bed. He was in a small room, only one window on his right and a chair before the bed. That's where Daniel now sat, his elbows leaning on his knees and his head slightly cocked to his left. "Can I get you anything? An aspirin?"

Spencer ignored the question, pushing himself up so that he could sit straight. His head protested with every movement he made. There were a thousand questions in his head, but he knew he would probably not get any useful answers. He tried anyway, "Why are you doing this?"

Daniel sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I want to help you," he said, a faint smile playing around his lips, "show you that life is so much more enjoyable if you take control of it."

"By killing people?" Spencer regretted those words instantly, but he found Daniel to remain strangely calm. He even chuckled at the words, making the genius believe that Daniel was in fact crazy, or at least crazier than his mother.

"I took control," Daniel explained, crossing his arms before his chest, "those men bullied us all the way through high school, tormented us and I figured they deserved some payback. You should have seen the look in their eyes, Spencer, just before they died."

Spencer swallowed heavily, unsure of how to react to all this. He was sure Morgan would know exactly what to say or do to take control of the situation, but Spencer wasn't a profiler even though he wished he was at this point. "What about Mr. Cameron," he heard a tremble in his voice, but ignored it, "he never hurt you."

"But he _did _hurt _you_," came Daniel's quick response, "and I have always looked after you, Spencer, and that hasn't changed. I could no longer bear to see you in so much pain. That bastard touched you and since you weren't strong enough to fight him, I did."

Suppressing the urge to swallow heavily or begin crying, Spencer chose to look straight into Daniel's eyes instead. "I didn't want to fight him," he argued, trying to find logic in Daniel's reasons, "I didn't want him dead. He was married, had two daughters so what about them?"

There was a short silence in which Daniel actually seemed to contemplate Spencer's words. "I don't care," he eventually shrugged, "it's you I care about and I figured that I should share this. There is still one bully out there, one moment of victory and I want you to have it."

Spencer frowned, not understanding.

"Dean Isner," Daniel spoke the name with venom dripping from the tip of his tongue, "I know where he lives and I thought we could pay him a visit together."

Slowly, too slowly, the realisation of Daniel's words came to Spencer who suddenly felt like throwing up. "You want me to kill him?"

"The power it gives you to take a life, Spencer, is unbelievable. Before I felt small and weak, but now I'm no longer afraid to look people in the eye. I'm confident that you can do this, that you can grow as strong as I have."

"No," Spencer shook his head violently, "I don't want this. Daniel, I want to go home to my mother. She needs me."

Daniel stepped away from his seat and bent towards Spencer who couldn't help but cringe back. "She holds you back," he said, gazing straight into his eyes, "what would you be without her?" A short pause filled the air and Spencer swallowed heavily. "You are a genius and you could be so much more than a teenage _whore_."

His breath hitched inside his chest. "I'm not-"

A slap across his face silenced him instantly.

"I am trying to help you," Daniel stressed every word, "and you will be grateful. If you don't want to kill Dean, then I'll do it for you and afterwards, we'll have a long, pleasant talk." He turned on his heels and left Spencer alone in the small room. The door fell shut with a heavy thud and Spencer could hear different locks clicking into place.

Tears began to invade his eyes and he didn't even bother to fight them. There was no one here to see them, no one here to comfort him and so he cried, hoping that someone would find him soon.

**AN: Again, sorry for the late update, but to make it up to you, I promise to update on Monday. That is if people respond to this chapter. Tell me what you think of it because any and all feedback is welcomed.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

**Warnings: AU (Reid is 17, but the BAU-team are the same)**

**AN: Writer's block, it happened. I conquered it. **_**I think**_**. I know I promised a new chapter on Monday and we're Thursday now so I apologise and pray for forgiveness. But I made the chapter extra juicy and I hope it will be enjoyed!**

**- The Wounded -**

**Chapter 8**

Morgan looked behind him to find Prentiss ready with a gun in her hand, her bullet proof vest was tightly around her torso. She signalled him that everyone was ready and Morgan nodded. He pressed his lips together and slowly exhaled through his nose. He stormed forward, kicking in the front door of the little house that belonged to Daniel Murray.

Their unsub.

The SWAT team followed the two FBI agents closely, instantly spreading out and clearing every chamber in the house. Morgan and Prentiss, standing in the small kitchen, exchanged quick glances, not needing words to voice their thoughts.

Frustration flooded the male agent. "He's gone," he said, grinding his teeth, "probably killing someone right now."

Prentiss nodded as she lowered her gun. "He must be around here somewhere," she said hurriedly, glancing around, "where else would he keep Spencer?"

A voice suddenly called out, sounding muffled and panicked. "_Let me out!_"

Morgan spun around to the origin of the sound and prayed to whoever was listening that the voice belonged to the young genius. He raced through the kitchen and entered a small living room that gave way to another room. Two members of the SWAT team were ready to bust in the door, yelling to keep away from the door. Morgan blinked when a loud bang echoed off the walls and the door sprung from its hinges, landing on the floor with a heavy thud.

For a moment Morgan anticipated Spencer to run out of the room, but no one stepped into view. Morgan, holding onto his gun with one hand, suddenly unsure if it was really Spencer in there, stepped forward and pushed passed the SWAT-members. His eyes fell on the small bed that took most of the room. There was a little table on which a glass holding water stood and near the far back corner, Spencer Reid stood.

His thin arms were wrapped around his torso and his cheeks were wet with tears. Morgan didn't blame the kid and simply stepped inside the room, slowly placing his gun back into the holster on his belt.

"Hey, kid," he made sure his voice was calm and smooth, "everything is alright."

He could hear Prentiss enter behind him, but he kept his eyes locked on the young genius.

A smile could be heard in Prentiss' voice as she spoke, "You're safe, Reid."

Spencer shifted his gaze between the two agents as if he were trying to determine whether they were really there. He swallowed heavily and blinked a few times. "My mom?"

"She's fine," Morgan assured him, taking another step forward until he could rest a hand on Spencer's shoulder. The touch seemed to relax him a little and Morgan repressed a sigh of relief. "How about you?" Only now did he notice the dark red, slightly purple bruise on Spencer's cheek, "what happened to your cheek?"

Spencer's hand moved towards his sore jaw, rubbing it absently. "It's Daniel," he muttered, "but I guess you figured it all out. I should have fought him harder," panic rose in Spencer's voice while shutting his eyes tightly, "but he was strong, Morgan, and I couldn't defend myself and – and..."

Morgan pulled Spencer towards him and embraced him. It wasn't something that came naturally to him since he considered himself the tough, save-the-world-kind-of-type. But Spencer needed someone right now and Morgan figured it could as well be him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Prentiss staring at them with sadness in her eyes.

A few moments passed during which a member of the SWAT-team came to Prentiss and whispered something to her. "There is an ambulance coming," she explained, "Reid, you need to be checked out-"

Spencer suddenly pulled himself loose from and quickly stroked aside some hair that had fallen before his eyes. "There is no time," he said, nearly falling over his words, "Daniel has gone after Dean Isner, he told me. We have to get to his house, we have to stop him!"

Before Spencer would fall into a fit of panic, Morgan cut in. "Then we'll stop Daniel, but you have to go to the hospital to make sure you're fine. You're not coming with us," he said, almost apologetically, "it's too dangerous."

Spencer's eyes widened. "If there is anyone who can buy you time, it's me," he reasoned, "he'll listen to me, Morgan, if only for a few minutes. I can help so please let me."

There was a short silence and Prentiss and Morgan glanced at each other. No words were spoken, but an entire conversation could be read in their eyes. Eventually, Morgan nodded, looking back to the young genius. "You follow my orders," he said hurriedly, "and you don't try to be the hero. Daniel is dangerous."

"I know," Spencer simply said.

-o-o-

When the car with Morgan, Prentiss and Spencer arrived at Dean Isner's home, they found that they weren't alone. The rest of the BAU-team and another SWAT-team was present, all having taking their position and preparing to enter the house with force.

"Hotch," Morgan called to his boss, watching how he was just putting on a bullet proof vest, "what's going on?" He had called in that Daniel Murray was heading towards Dean Isner's house, but he hadn't expected this much buzz to be happening already.

"Daniel Murray is in there," the dark haired man explained, only seriousness visible in his voice, "he is holding a knife to Dean's throat and a gun pointed at his wife and son. Snipers can't get a clean shot, we're waiting for the negotiator," his gaze shifted towards someone behind Morgan and suddenly, his voice dropped, "what is _he_ doing here?"

Morgan didn't have to turn around to see who it was that Hotch had seen. "Reid wants to talk to Daniel," he explained, "he can stall, give us a chance to enter the house and disarm Daniel." He glanced over his shoulder towards Spencer who appeared rather awkward standing between all the professionally trained men.

"He's a kid, Morgan," Hotch's voice shot in the air, something that didn't happen much, "I want him out of here!"

"He wants to help," Morgan argued, "and I think that he actually can. He's smart, Hotch, and if you give him a chance, he'll proof himself useful. He can _help_."

From a distance, Spencer watched the two FBI agents argue, obviously about him which made him swallow heavily. He didn't want to get into trouble and he didn't want Morgan to get into trouble because of him. The dark skinned agent had already done so much for him and Spencer wanted to repay him somehow.

He shifted his gaze towards the house. "What's happening in there?" he asked Prentiss who had chosen to stay with him for now.

"Daniel has taken Dean and his family hostage," Prentiss explained reluctantly, "the situation is worse than we thought. We shouldn't have brought you here, Reid, I'm sorry."

"No," Spencer said instantly, "I can still help."

Prentiss eyes him curiously. "You have a plan, haven't you?"

Spencer's cheek reddened and he nodded. "I'll have to talk to Morgan about it, could you fetch him for me?"

"Alright," Prentiss told him, sending him a quick reassuring smile.

As soon as Spencer saw that Prentiss was far enough, he _ran_. He did have a plan, but it didn't involve Morgan or any other FBI agents for that matter. What he was doing was dangerous and quiet possible stupid, but Spencer figured even a genius like himself was allowed a few mistakes.

He sprinted between the agents and members of the SWAT-team, finding that he was rather swift on his feet and avoided looking into confused eyes. He ignored those that called out his name and even managed to evade arms making an attempt to catch him.

Having been bullied his entire childhood could do that to someone. Ever since he was a young boy, he had run to avoid getting caught by bullies, a talent he could put to use again. Racing towards the front door of the house, he ignored the cries of people behind him and he pushed open the door, quickly closing it behind him again.

He inhaled deeply. He had gotten this far, turning back was not an option. Slowly, he made his way upstairs, to where the soft cries came from. The stairs squeaked beneath his feet and he could hear panicked voices coming from behind a door to his left.

Slowly, very deliberately, he opened the door and found Daniel holding a knife against a kneeling Dean's throat. He also had a gun directed towards a woman and son who sat on the bed, on the other side of the bedroom. The boy was desperately clinging to its mother, sobbing heavily.

"_Spencer_?" Daniel sounded surprised and the grip on the knife slipped for a second, but he quickly regained his composure. "What are you doing here?"

"I changed my mind, Daniel," Spencer said, smiling though he hoped it didn't appear too fake, "everything you said made sense. I just needed some time so think it through, but as soon as I understood, I came running."

Daniel frowned, carefully weighing every word. "How did you get in here? FBI and SWAT are outside."

Spencer grinned, knowing he had to play the part perfectly. Daniel might be crazy, but he wouldn't be fooled easily. "FBI invaded your house, but I played them," he explained slowly, "I made up an excuse and they brought me here. As soon as I arrived, I made a run for it because I had to see you." Carefully, he took a step forward. "You've protected me from those bullies all that time ago and I should be grateful."

Daniel smiled, his white teeth exposed. "I knew you'd come around, Spencer, I knew you would want to feel the power and strength that I now feel."

Spencer nodded. "I do," he admitted, "but I won't _bully_ the boy."

Daniel's smile disappeared, a frown replacing it.

"Killing his father in front of him," Spencer explained, "that would be like bullying him. You don't want to become a bully yourself, now do you, Daniel? I refuse to become a bully. Let him go, let his mother take him away from here. We have Dean, he's all we need."

A long silence hung in the bedroom, even the small boy had grown silent. Eventually Daniel nodded. "You're right. Of course you're right, Spencer, you're a genius after all." He turned towards mother and son. "Take him away from here. _Now_."

"Please," the woman whimpered, looking at her husband, "_please_."

"I said," Daniel hissed through clenched teeth, "get. Out."

The woman cried, but took her son in her arms and ran from the room. Spencer watched how Dean relaxed a little, closed his eyes and sighed deeply. When he opened his eyes again, he looked directly at Spencer, an emotion in his eyes which the young genius couldn't quiet place. Was that gratitude?

"Now give me the knife, Daniel" Spencer held out his hand, hoping that part two of his plan would go as smooth as the first part, "you trust me, don't you?"

A warm smile curved Daniel's lips. "I trust you," he said, handing the knife to Spencer. He was still holding on tightly to his gun which was now pointed at Dean's head. One wrong movement and he would pull the trigger.

Slowly, Spencer stepped forward until he stood directly before Dean Isner, the man that had made his life a living hell during high school. If he struck now, he could actually kill him, but Spencer knew he wasn't capable of that. He wasn't a murderer and the years in high school hadn't bittered him like they had Daniel.

They had screwed him up, though, but not enough to turn him into a cold hearted killer.

"Thank you," Dean mouthed at him and Spencer swallowed heavily.

If there was ever a time to do it, it was now. He pushed Dean towards the floor and watched Daniel's eyes grow wide, furious with the betrayal. Daniel's hand lifted, raising the gun so that it pointed at Spencer.

A gunshot rang loudly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

**Warnings: AU (Reid is 17, but the BAU-team are the same)**

**AN: ****I've done it. I have ended my first story of Criminal Minds and I am very pleased to see how it has turned out. Thanks to everyone who read this, reviewed it and/or made this a favourite. Enjoy the last chapter and please, let me know what you think about it!**

**Chapter 9**

Morgan had the faint urge to cradle his head in his arms and wait for this madness to simply end. In stead, he watched how the front door of the house remained closed, a teenage boy with long, brown hair just having disappeared through it. He had shouted Spencer's name, wanted to run after him, but he couldn't.

Inside that house was a murderer who currently had an entire family under his control. If Morgan had run after Spencer, there was no telling what Daniel would have don then. And so the dark skinned agent wished he knew what Spencer was planning, but his mind came up with a dozen different scenarios. Perhaps Spencer wanted to talk to Daniel, make him surrender. Or maybe he had played them all and believed Daniel actually cared for him. Or maybe-

Hotch's voice called him back to reality, "I told you he shouldn't have been here!"

Morgan cringed slightly at the accusation that lay in his boss' voice, but he chose to believe in Spencer. "What do you want me to say, Hotch," he said in a tight voice, "that I'm sorry? I guess we'll just have to trust Spencer this time."

Hotch shook his head, grinding his teeth together. "This is madness."

"I know," Morgan sighed, more to his own than to his boss.

The leader of the SWAT-team stepped forward, a slightly worried look in his eyes which wasn't something Morgan was used seeing in these kind of guys. The first thing you learned on the job was to hide away your emotions since they could endanger the entire operation. "There is a young boy in there and now a teenager," the man who Morgan only knew as Christopher said, "chances are they'll get hurt."

"Do everything in your power to prevent that," Hotch said in his usual stoic voice. He shot Morgan a dangerous glare, but Morgan ignored it. "Getting the boy and Spencer out is priority."

Christopher nodded when suddenly, he turned on his heels and faced the house again. "Snipers report movement inside the house," he announced.

Both Hotch and Morgan turned to look at the house as well. They watched with confusion how the front door opened, a thin, blonde woman rushing out while holding her son tightly in her arms. Her cheeks were wet with tears and she seemed reluctant to walk towards the collection of police, SWAT-members and FBI-agents. Morgan couldn't begin to image what was going through Donna's head at this moment.

It was Prentiss who stepped forward, leading the wife Donna away from the house and safely towards one of their black SUV's. Morgan could see Prentiss talk to the woman, soothing her and the boy, probably telling her everything would be alright. Was it all a lie?

"Why would he release the wife and son suddenly," Morgan thought out loud, gazing at Hotch with a frown on his face, "it makes no sense."

Hotch nodded after a few seconds of silence. "Probably because he has Dean Isner _and _Spencer Reid."

Morgan bit down on his lower lip. If Spencer got hurt or worse, killed then wouldn't it be his fault? He had allowed the young genius to come along and he had been an idiot to think that Spencer wouldn't try and do something stupid – or smart. They had Donna and her son back safely after all and Morgan couldn't help but feel strangely proud.

Christopher spun around to face both agents again. "Snipers have a clear shot of both Daniel Murray and Spencer Reid."

Morgan's eyes widened. "Spencer is a victim here," he said hurriedly, "not a target."

Christopher's eyes turned almost apologetic, "He's holding a knife."

"Take out Daniel Murray," Hotch ordered, "we'll see how Spencer reacts then."

"_Hotch_!"

But the Unit Chief ignored Morgan and nodded once towards Christopher who relayed the order to his snipers. Morgan saw red and felt his hands turn into fists. "Hotch," he tried again, "you can't do this. Spencer is just a _kid_."

"And he won't be harmed if he doesn't do anything stupid."

"Damnit!"

A shot echoed through the air, followed by the breaking of a window and Morgan could only stare at the house, holding his breath in the process.

-o-o-

A shot rang loudly.

Spencer held his breath, his vision swirling before his eyes as he watched Daniel's eyes turn empty. Blood oozed from a bullet wound in his chest and Spencer staggered back as Daniel fell forward. _Dead_. It didn't happen like in the movies where everything turned into a slow motion; in reality, it all happened too quickly and Spencer did not know what to do.

He threatened to fall down himself, but two strong arms held him up. Only now did Spencer realise that he was still holding the knife and with trembling hand he dropped it, disgusted with himself for even holding the weapon.

"Breathe," Dean Isner ordered him. Spencer only realized now that those two strong arms belonged to the former bully. "Come on, Spencer, _breathe_."

He did.

Inhaling deeply, he felt tears invade the corners of his eyes, but he tried to fight then. Slowly, very deliberately, he turned to look down at his shirt and arms only to see it covered with blood. _Daniel's blood_. His gaze travelled up his arms, his shoulders, his chest but he only saw blood and when he touched his face with the tip of his fingers, they reddened instantly.

There was blood _everywhere_ and Spencer only began shaking uncontrollably.

"Where in here," Dean shouted, getting the attention of whoever had entered the house, "hurry!"

Heavy footsteps filled the house and it was only a moment later that two members of a SWAT-team entered, their guns raised. They quickly checked if Daniel was still alive and removed the gun from his dead grasp. Spencer could only stare at them, barely aware that he was being lead from the room. Only when he stood outside in the hallway, Dean just behind him, did his eyes fall on the one FBI agent he had grown to trust. The tears he had forced back only moments ago now ran freely across his cheeks, but Spencer no longer cared.

Morgan rushed towards him, his hands falling on his shoulders and worry consuming his eyes. He didn't seem to care about the blood covering the young genius while that was all Spencer could think about. "Are you alright, kid?"

What was the point in lying? "No."

Morgan helped him walk down the stairs and exit the house. They moved towards an ambulance and Spencer didn't care when two medics instantly began checking his pulse, his heart rate and breathing. He was barely aware of the hands touching him, but he could feel the intense stare of Morgan. Carefully, Spencer raised his arms, noticing how much he was still trembling and his breath hitched in his chest when he became fully aware of the sticky blood covering his skin.

"Reid, look at me," Morgan kneeled before him, taking both Spencer's hands into his own, "you did good in there. You saved Dean and his family, do you understand?"

"The blood..." Spencer's voice broke and balled his hands into fists, trying to stop the trembling, "the blood..."

"It's alright," Morgan assured him. One of the medics handed him a wet towel and Morgan gently began cleaning away the red substance, making sure he didn't make any rough and sudden movements. He had seen this a million times already and he knew Spencer was in shock.

Spencer knew this as well.

Morgan continued to clean Spencer's skin, touching it as if it were highly delicate, but Spencer didn't even notice anymore. He watched how Dean ran across the front yard of the house towards a black SUV and he watched how a little boy rushed towards his father. Dean cried openly when hugging his son and wife and Spencer wished he could see his mother.

"He is so different," he whispered to Morgan, trying to distract himself from the image of a dead Daniel laying at his feet, "Dean seems..._nice_."

Morgan offered him a smile, his movements halting for a short second, "You are a good kid, Spencer- I mean Reid."

Spencer chuckled sadly. "It's alright," he said softly, "it doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

"No," Morgan shook his head, "it doesn't. It's over and you should feel relieved and happy, scared and confused. That's normal so don't feel embarrassed about it."

Spencer's voice became barely audible, "I understood him, Morgan, I understood everything Daniel wanted."

Morgan sighed and stopped cleaning away the blood again. In stead, he grabbed both Spencer's hand and looked straight into his eyes. "That doesn't make you a bad person," he assured the young boy, "if anything, it made you capable of taking control of the situation. For a moment there, you were a brilliant profiler."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Morgan focused back on the towel and blood, "that's what we do, Reid. We try to think like the unsub, we try to understand him which makes it...easier to catch him I suppose. It isn't always pretty to look into the minds of disturbed people."

"It isn't always pretty to look into _my_ mind," Spencer said nervously.

Morgan frowned.

"It could have been me, you know," Spencer explained, swallowing heavily as more tears escaped his eyes. He stared at his hands which now lay folded into his lap, the trembling having stilled a bit. "Did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?"

Morgan blinked. "Reid..."

"I hate them," Spencer's voice was something between harsh and sad, "I hate them and I never felt sorry to learn they were dead. They bullied me, hurt me like they did so many others and finally one of them wanted revenge. It could have been me."

"It wasn't," Morgan said in an earnest voice, appearing unaffected by Spencer's words, "I like to think that I know you and you're not capable of hurting anyone because you don't want them to suffer like you have."

Behind Morgan, Prentiss appeared and she smiled kindly which suddenly turned apologetic. "Am I interrupting?"

There was a short silence, but Reid shook his head as Morgan began cleaning away the blood again.

"Dean asked me to say thank you," Prentiss said.

Spencer scoffed and turned to look back at Morgan. "I want to go home," he told him, "I want to see my mother and I want to forget about all this."

Morgan only nodded. "Sure."

-o-o-

Being back in Quantico felt like coming home to Morgan. It meant another case had ended, another unsub was gone and people had been saved. This time, however, he felt like he had actually left something behind. Spencer Reid wasn't someone he would forget easily and he hoped the boy would be alright.

He was only seventeen, but already he had lived through too much and Morgan couldn't help but worry. Or perhaps he should seek comfort in the fact that Spencer was a brilliant mind. Surely he wouldn't do anything stupid? But what was Spencer Reid first? A kid or a genius?

A deep sigh escaped his lips and he noticed Prentiss staring at him with a slight frown creasing her brow. "What?" he asked softly.

"You're thinking about him," Prentiss stated, leaning back into her chair. There lay no accusation in her voice, only an understanding and Morgan knew they would all be thinking about Spencer in the coming months.

"Yeah," he admitted.

Prentiss smiled. "He'll be fine. He's strong."

"I hope so."

-o-o-

Five Years Later

-o-o-

Spencer glanced around. It wasn't the first time he had come here, but it was his first day working here so there were feelings of nervosity. Making his way to the elevator, stepping inside and waiting until he could get out on the right floor, Spencer forced himself to take in deep breaths.

He stepped out of the elevator and glanced around. He noticed many faces, but instantly was drawn towards the ones he had come to know so well. Prentiss and Morgan were sitting at their desks, working through a stack of paperwork and Spencer felt exited. Today, he would be sitting there.

It was Prentiss who first noticed him and she almost jumped from her seat, hurrying towards him with Morgan now following her closely behind. "Welcome," she smiled, "it's good to have you on board, Reid."

Morgan beamed, a smile reaching all the way to his eyes. "Hey, kid."

"I've told you," Spencer said, not able to suppress a smile of his own, "I'm no longer a kid."

"That's right," Morgan laughed, "you're a profiler now. You're one of us."

Spencer laughed. "I like that thought."

-o-o-

The End

-o-o-


End file.
